Somewhere Along the Way (29 page)

He stood, the chains on his pants sounding like wind chimes.

Reagan watched her uncle move onto the porch. She wished she could explain that Brandon Biggs was just a friend. Truman acted like he thought the boy might steal her away at any moment.

“Before I forget”—Uncle Jeremiah did his best to look like he had a real reason for stepping onto the porch—“the sheriff asked me tonight if you had any relatives named Biggs.”

“No. Just my little brother. He’s staying over in Bailee now with some of my mother’s relatives.” Bran hesitated, then seemed to decide to talk. “My brother, Border, said they weren’t too happy to have him, but they’ll be better to live with than my stepdad. My mom took off for parts unknown last week. I’m out of that mess, and when I get my own place, maybe he’ll come live with me.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Reagan smiled. She’d known him two years and he’d only mentioned a little brother a few times.

He nodded, as if the idea were just forming in his mind.

“See you, Bran.” She expected her uncle to hurry Bran along, but Truman surprised her.

The old man moved forward and offered his hand. “Good night,” he started. “If you have the time some weekend, drop by and we’ll work on that car of yours.”

“Really?” Bran sounded as surprised as she was.

Truman nodded and watched the boy walk away, waving.

When Bran was in his car backing away, Reagan whispered, “That was nice of you to offer your help.”

“I watched that boy,” Truman said as he helped her with her crutches. “He’s rough, scarred by life more than most, I reckon, but he cares about you. I won’t always be around to protect you, but I think you could depend on him to knock a few heads together if you needed him.”

“He’s just a boy I know,” she said as she moved inside.

“Maybe to you, but to him you’re someone special. Knowing you is going to make him a better man.”

“If you think so.”

He grinned. “I’ve lived long enough to know so.” Holding the door, he added, “Now come along inside. I’ll get us more of that passable cake and we’ll plan. Come spring I was thinking we need to make some changes in this place, and I want an outline of every detail that needs doing already in your mind before spring. Then once the weather clears, we can get started.”

She wanted to tell him she was tired, but when her uncle wanted to talk nothing got in his way.

EARLY MONDAY MORNING
FEBRUARY 18, 2008
BLUE MOON DINER

DENVER HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING ALL NIGHT. AT SUNUP HE was still wide awake, his mind filled with thoughts of Claire. She seemed totally different from any woman he’d ever known. An artist. He’d never even met an artist. She must have a great deal of talent if she showed in New York. The article he’d read on the plane said she painted men dying strange and terrible deaths, like every divorced woman wishes her ex would.

What did it matter? Talent was talent, and he could see it in any art. Though Gabe’s inked sketches, masterfully done in both fine detail and bold lines, haunted Denver. His was the art of one who’d suffered in battles and lived to draw the rawness of it that few understood.

Denver prided himself on being honest, at least inside. His gut told him it didn’t matter what Claire did, he’d still feel an attraction so deep that logic evaporated when she was near.

He believed he could size most women up in five minutes. He usually guessed right about what they wanted, or more accurately, what they wanted to fall for. Some liked romance, compliments, talk of possibilities. Others liked it honest, no strings, no games. He even ran into a woman once in a while who giggled about being drunk after one glass of wine so she could wash away the night at dawn by saying she didn’t remember a thing.

But Claire wasn’t playing. She didn’t even seem to know the game. She was pushing him away and drawing him to her at the same time. For the first time in years he didn’t feel like he was standing on solid ground when it came to a woman.

He couldn’t wait to see her again.

By seven thirty Monday morning, he had already downed two cups of coffee at the Blue Moon Diner. Everyone in the diner seemed to know each other. He was the only stranger, which suited him fine. For once, he didn’t want to talk to anyone but Claire.

The morning crowd had died down by the time she finally came in. She wore a long camel-colored wool coat over a black sweater and pants. A colorful scarf covered her hair, and glasses hid her eyes, but she still took his breath away.

She walked straight to his table and didn’t look at him as he stood while she took the seat opposite his chair.

“Morning.” He smiled at her dark glasses. “You want to order some breakfast? I could read the menu to you.”

“No,” she said. “I’ve already had breakfast.”

“Well, how do you like your coffee, or would you rather have tea or juice?” He didn’t care what she had. They could gnaw on the table for all he cared.

“Nothing,” she said, tugging off her gloves. “I’m fine.”

He got the picture. “I see. You’re just here to tell me we shouldn’t have set up a time and place to meet, right?”

“Right.”

He waited. When she didn’t say anything else, he guessed what she was probably thinking. “You remembered that you hate me along with all men on the planet and this, like the other night in the hallway, should be filed in the ‘never happened’ folder I’m supposed to forget.”

“Right.”

Denver tried not to let his anger show. “Take off the damn glasses, Claire.”

She slowly raised her hand and tugged off the glasses. The moment he saw that she’d been crying, all the anger left him. He grabbed the menu and stared at it as if he hadn’t memorized the thing in the hour he’d been waiting.

“Want to talk about it?” he said without looking up at her. He had no idea what would make such a beautiful woman cry, but he had a feeling his name would be mentioned somewhere in the explanation.

“No,” she answered.

Denver closed his menu and fought down a string of swear words. This was why men climbed on the boat with Columbus. The end of the world looked better than trying to figure out women.

The waitress took the hint when she saw the closed menu and circled by the table with her pad in hand.

“I’ll have the two-egg special, scrambled, wheat toast dry, and she’ll have the blueberry pancakes with sausage on the side.” He glanced up at Claire. She’d shoved her glasses back on. “She’ll have orange juice and I’ll take another coffee.”

When the waitress moved away, Claire said in a calm, dull voice. “I said I didn’t want breakfast.”

“Fine. I’ll eat them both.” He waited long enough to take a deep breath and asked, “Now you want to talk?”

“No,” she said simply.

She didn’t look happy to be with him, but she wasn’t getting up and leaving. He saw that as progress. He ate, she watched, until both plates were empty. Then he ordered more coffee and they sat, silent. He’d asked twice. If she wanted to talk, she’d have to start. He wasn’t asking again.

She didn’t look at him. She played with a pack of sugar, watched the people across the street, straightened the collar of her coat. She didn’t talk.

When he paid the bill, she stood and they walked out together without saying a word.

“Which one’s your car?” he asked.

She pointed to a black Dodge Caravan.

He took the keys from her hand and said, “Get in.”

She didn’t say a word as she climbed into the passenger seat. Maybe she’d said all she came to say, but until she walked away they’d play the game out. Denver thought of himself as a pro, an expert at short affairs and one-night stands, but this time, this woman meant more to him than he wanted to admit. He had the feeling this was her first time on the field.

He drove ten miles out of town to where a roadside park leaned out over a small canyon. In the summer it would make a great picnic spot, but now in the dead of winter, it looked stark and abandoned. When the trees were green, the picnic area would have been hidden, almost private, but now occasional traffic blinked by, the aspens serving as open blinds.

He stopped the car and climbed out, walked around to her side, and opened her door.

She didn’t move.

He leaned in, unbuckled her seat belt, took her hand, and tugged her out. They walked twenty yards to a picnic table striped with the shadows of branches from a huge willow. The morning was cold, but for a change, the wind barely whispered around them.

At the end of the table, he turned her to face him, gently pulling off her glasses and scarf that had hidden her hair. The long loose strands flowed around her face as he studied her. She didn’t look afraid, or angry, or even worried. To his surprise she looked curious.

“You’ve got the most beautiful eyes.” He placed his hands on her waist and pushed her back until the top of her legs bumped against the table. “Among other things.” Then, without another word, he kissed her.

After a few seconds, he pulled his mouth away. “I don’t care if you hate me. Open your mouth and kiss me back, Claire. I’ve been thinking about kissing you all night.”

To his shock, when he touched her lips again, she opened her mouth and he was lost in the taste of her. After a while, without breaking the kiss, he opened her coat and slid his hands inside. The feel of her body wrapped in cashmere drove him mad. She made no move to pull away as he explored.

Sometime, while he touched her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back, allowing him more freedom to feel.

He grinned. She might hate his guts, but the woman loved his touch.

She made little sounds of pleasure as his hands cupped her breasts. He gripped her waist and lifted her hips onto the table before pulling her legs apart so he could be closer. They were now equal height and she came to him hungrily.

She liked to kiss deeply and dug her long fingers into his hair as if to hold him closer. Once, when he would have broken the kiss, she held tight. When he finally ended the kiss, he brushed her cheek. “It’s all right, baby, I’m not going to let you go. It’s all right.”

She drew him back to her.

A car passed on the highway twenty yards away and they pulled a few inches apart. Another moment and he might have jerked off her clothes and made love to her atop the picnic table, but reason stopped him as the cold air passed between them.

When the car was out of sight, he kissed her one last time, then stepped back. As she slowed her breath, he lifted her off the table and turned her so that her back was to the road. She didn’t move. He almost felt as if she were clay in his hands, just waiting for his touch. He pulled her back against his chest, loving the way she came to him so willingly. “We’re not leaving yet, Claire. I’ve got to touch you one more time. If you’ve any objection, you’d better say so now.”

She didn’t make a sound.

He pulled her coat off her shoulders and shoved it down until it hung at her elbows, then began to caress her. “Don’t feel the cold, darling, just feel me touching you.” His hand moved along her throat, over her shoulder.

She leaned the back of her head on his shoulder and let him stroke her wherever he liked. When he moved his fingers to her waist and slipped his hand beneath her sweater, she drew in a sharp breath. He spread his palm out over her bare skin.

“I love the feel of you,” he whispered against her ear, then kissed the soft flesh at her neck.

When she was completely fluid in his arms, he lifted her up and carried her to the car. She rested on his shoulder, crying silently. He opened the car door and lowered her onto her seat. Before he could pull away, she cupped his face and kissed him. Her warm tears brushing across his cold cheek were the most sensual thing he’d ever felt.

They didn’t say a word as he drove back and parked in front of the diner. He left the keys in the ignition and the heater running. For a long moment, he watched her leaning back with her eyes closed and a slight smile on her lips as if she were having a dream and he could be no part of it.

“Name the time, Claire. Name the place. I want to see you again.”

She didn’t answer.

“Then here. Anytime.” He pulled his card from his pocket and shoved it into her hand. “That’s my cell number. I’ll be waiting.”

He had no idea if she heard him. A few minutes later when he pulled past her in his own car, she was still sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes closed.

He wondered if she’d meet him again. As he drove away, he realized he was already missing her. He’d never been close to a woman like her. He didn’t know how to handle her, what to say, when to push, when to stop, and she gave him no hint or direction.

Denver only knew one thing for certain. For the first time in his life he was falling in love . . . really in love.